


Bittersweet Familiarity

by VILBUR



Series: mcyt one-shots [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: DreamSMP - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Paranormal, Past Character Death, Probably a Little OOC Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27729955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VILBUR/pseuds/VILBUR
Summary: "A lot of good had come from it in the end- He just wished Wilbur could’ve lived to see it."--Fundy visits his fathers grave in hopes it will bring about some form of peace of mind.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Series: mcyt one-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127396
Kudos: 42





	Bittersweet Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I haven't written much/any mcyt before so pls bear with me I tried TwT  
> **This was drafted before Eret adopted Fundy and Wilbur made a full version of the song, I'm just slow and procrastinate things so this is solely off canon from roughly the 18th November

A boy with rather fox-like lineaments dragged his heels as he meandered down a narrow path of soft dirt, dug with the sole intent of leading to and from a precise location, borders never having quite been properly established allowing tufts of emerald green grass to spill out onto it and peak up from areas that hadn’t been up-kept all too recently. Tall dark oak trees dwarfed anyone taking a stroll through the forest, muffling out a lot of sunlight with their dense leaves making it appear much darker regardless of what time it may have actually been, leaving one with nothing but their thoughts and wit.

It would’ve been easy for one to grow lost in such an environment, for their navigational skills to fail them no matter how perfect they may have once perceived them to be as they only got deeper and deeper into the foliage; but he’d been here far too many times before. Fundys shaky grip tightened around a rather makeshift yet endearing bouquet of various flowers he’d stolen from what might’ve been someone's garden, he hadn’t checked, other around the neck of a beaten up yet perfectly functional guitar. He stood well within sight of a clearing in the vegetation, hesitating for a moment to breathe in the clear forest air in an attempt to clear his head before stepping into the rather dazzling sunlight streaming in through gaps in the canopy above.

The atmosphere was warm for late January- just cool enough that a jacket would suffice more than enough to keep one at a decent temperature without it becoming uncomfortable, yet warm enough that you wouldn’t be clinging at it for any semblance of heat- although, one thing that wasn’t quite so mundane was that it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep himself distracted with such vague small talk like the weather when he knew full well why he was here. He sighed as he allowed his gaze to finally land on the slightly weathered yet intentionally preserved gravestone sat as the centrepiece in the clearing, inscribed with the name of his father. The name he practically couldn’t stand to hear for a period of time.

“Hello… Wilbur…” Fundy mumbled, carefully taking a seat beside the hefty stone, trying not to disturb any of the wildflowers growing around them in the process. There’d been a time when he wouldn’t even come here, too caught up in the betrayal and hurt he left behind the moment his heart ceased beating but had been festering for a while, both disgusted by his actions; all the hard work he’d blow up, all the people he’d hurt- but also the presidency that hadn’t gone to him- an admittedly much more selfish reason but a warranted one, only recently having come to terms with it all enough to visit his final resting place.

“I’m still mad at you.” He sighed into the relatively cool air, resting his bundle of flowers amongst those already placed by friends and enemies alike, some a little more wilted than others due to age and weathering but still holding those same golden intentions. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, letting his gaze wander anywhere but the inevitable, scanning the surroundings for human life before speaking further, already knowing they were far enough away from anyone else that only him and the trees would know of words spoken by visitors to the graveside of the former president who’d fallen from grace months before his death “But I miss you… I-I know you weren’t the best at times, and I don’t think I can ever entirely forgive you for that…” His breathing was the slightest bit shaky, voice quiet “But I need to know… Why did you do it?”

“Did you think it would somehow fix anything?” Of course, he wasn’t going to receive an answer, and he knew this, but he couldn’t help but ask in the smallest hope that somewhere in whatever kind of hell his father had most likely ended up in his soul could hear his voice, already on the verge of crying just from being here “You didn’t have to go… A lot of us would’ve still been mad at you… But we wouldn’t have just abandoned you, we could’ve rebuilt things, together…” No response, as per usual.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment or two, no second party to vocalise a conscious thought or feeling, only himself and a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves, gaze landing upon the guitar he’d left lying in the grass when he’d arrived, picking it up with a certain caution its previous owner didn’t appear to have quite so much of and absently tuning it. At the very least, it was a distraction from how much he wanted to cry “I’ve been practising something,” A soft, melancholic grin returned to his features “I think you’ll like it.”

Fundy didn’t give much more prerequisite other than testing chords before beginning, clearing his throat and getting a tad more comfortable, voice the slightest bit wavering at first “I heard there was a special place, where men could go and emancipate the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers.”

“Well this place is real, you needn’t fret,” It was familiar, almost homely, a song his father had sung to him many times while he’d still been here, before he lost his mind to the point of seemingly no return, fond memories causing a smile to quirk his lips “With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret… It’s a very big and quite blown up L’manburg.”

“My L’manburg,” He missed the old days, before all the elections and Schlatt and when Wilbur retained some sanity.

“My L’manburg,” He was still mad at his father, still angry at how he treated him, how he chose Tubbo- well technically Tommy, over him- but such emotions had become the slightest bit more docile over time, not quite at peace with them yet but certainly getting there.

“My L’manburg,” And in his honest opinion, Tubbo had done a far better job at keeping the peace than he ever could’ve, at the very least he’d give Wilbur that.

“My L’manburg.” Overall, he’d been sad to see what he’d once known go without even being able to say goodbye, but a lot of good had come from it in the end- He just wished Wil could’ve lived to see it.

By the time the words had ceased to leave his throat, tear streaks were evident down his flushed cheeks, a bittersweet jubilance lingerie in his chest, conflicted but content all at once as he fell back into the lush grass, lying still staring up at the gaps that allowed minimal view of the vast cornflower sky. An amiable, long acquainted voice caught his ears, almost glitchy but decipherable by a long shot “I’m so proud of you, son.”

He sat bolt upright once more, making himself the slightest bit dizzy in the process but glancing in the direction of his fathers headstone just in time to see a figure perched just on top of it yet not quite touching it, spectral but recognisable, warm features wistful and ever so serene as he stared back at him as if he half expected he couldn’t see him at all, disappearing from view as if he’d never been there at all mere milliseconds later.

Maybe he’d been hallucinating, perhaps he was beginning to lose his mind too, but he swore he’d seen his father that temperate afternoon, sat up there in a state far more comforting than that in which he’d left them in, not quite angelic but peaceful enough one could disregard it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you came from twt hi ily uwu  
> twt - @GHOSTVILBUR
> 
> (As I finish this Dream premieres, I hate him- /j)


End file.
